


straining

by Athina_Blaine



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Drinking, First Kiss, M/M, Making Out, Verbalizing Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:21:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26813569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athina_Blaine/pseuds/Athina_Blaine
Summary: “How … how many people have you … kissed?"At that, Martin’s eyes snapped wide open, but Jon looked as if he were asleep.“I … I, uh, don’t know, really. Four?”One eye peeked open. “You’re not counting Tim, are you?”Martin chuckled. “No, no, I don’t think those kinds of kisses count.”“Good.” Jon closed his eyes again, then frowned. “How … how many would it be if you … did count them?”-After a night of drinking with friends, Martin and Jon have a discussion.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 57
Kudos: 485





	straining

**Author's Note:**

> For [theshoutingslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theshoutingslytherin/pseuds/theshoutingslytherin). Happy birthday, Tem!

Martin flipped on the overheads and Jon groaned, pressing a hand over his eyes.

“I would …” Breaking off in a hiss, Jon reached for the wall, stumbling into the room. “I would _really_ rather not … the fluorescents just make me dizzier …”

Holding back a smile, Martin flipped the lights back off. The ones from the library were more than enough to illuminate the private study area and besides, Jon just needed to grab his laptop.

Sighing with relief, Jon pushed himself towards the desks. “Now, _where_ did I leave that _bloody thing_ …”

Leaning against the doorway, Martin watched with sympathetic amusement as Jon groped around for his missing laptop, every sip of beer making itself readily apparent in his clumsy, floundering movements. To be fair, Martin wasn’t handling it much better himself– _he_ was the one that tripped flat on his face, twice, as they made their way from Tim’s to the library.

“A-ha,” Jon said at last, holding up the laptop. “Can’t believe I forgot. You know my bloody dissertation is on here? Someone could have _stolen_ the wretched thing ... ”

Jon’s eyes were blown wide open in horror and intoxication, and, once again, Martin struggled to hold back his smile, especially now that Jon was looking at him. It was much harder to keep his reactions in check after a night of drinking. “You’d’ve been _fine_ , you have that thing backed up on two different cloud servers.”

Grumbling, Jon tucked the laptop under his arm. “I s’pose we’d better get going, then.”

“I suppose.”

But Jon didn’t move to leave, swaying slightly on his feet, lips curling downwards. Like a waterfall of knobbly limbs, he sank into the desk chair, and Martin jumped up.

“Are you okay?”

“M’feet hurt,” Jon said, throwing the oh-so-important laptop back on the table. He then started to kick off his shoes, much to Martin’s bemusement. “ _Why_ is the _bloody_ library _so_ _bloody far_ from _everything_ …?”

Martin sighed. It would appear they would be taking a moment of rest together. Probably for the best– the world was pitching a bit more aggressively than he was necessarily comfortable with. Leaving the door ajar, he took the empty seat next to Jon.

“You doing okay?” he asked with one drawn brow, taking in the sight of Jon balled up in the chair. Jon grunted, one foot kicked out as he swayed his chair back and forth in small, half circles, his eyes closed. Martin didn’t know how he could be comfortable in a ball of bunched up limbs like that, but his expression was serene as he gently rocked himself.

Martin let himself relax. Enjoy the feeling of tingling fingers and lightly numbed lips. Watching Jon. There’d been a time Jon wouldn’t have let Martin see him like this– now, it didn’t seem like he minded so much. Practically bullied Martin out of the flat with him when he remembered where he left his laptop.

“Why do I _insist_ on drinking?” Jon said, suddenly. “All of this trouble for a, a _modicum_ of … _liquid courage?_ ”

Only Jon could remain so eloquent several drinks into the night. Martin chuckled. “To be honest, I just like to play the games.”

Jon scowled, before letting out a curt huff. “I ... do like the games.” But then he tossed his head back with a groan. “Did you _see_ how many times Tim drew that blasted kissing card? He must have kissed close to … _twenty_ people tonight.”

“I think I may have noticed,” Martin said, face warming, having been one of Tim’s, er … _participants_. “Twenty seems like a bit of an exaggeration, though.” 

Jon’s scowl deepened, and he curled up further into his chair. “Only card I ever bloody drew was _name a category_.”

“Right, right, and you kept picking things like _Eastern European archaeological dig sites_. I think I’m only half as drunk as I am thanks to you.”

“I just don’t get an opportunity to talk about the stuff, much,” Jon said with a pout, and Martin laughed again.

“Okay, okay, but back up; are you _disappointed_ you didn’t get to kiss any random strangers tonight? Because, I have to say, you don’t need to–”

“ _Obviously_ not,” Jon snapped. “It’s just a matter of variety. And the fact that Tim is clearly cheating. Somehow.”

“Yes. Somehow.”

They lapsed back into silence, Jon’s chair squeaking intermittently. They would probably need to get going soon– Jon needed something to eat and drink if he wanted to avoid feeling like death in the morning.

Martin awoke from his musings, however, when a socked foot gently poked his ankle.

“How … how many people have you … kissed?”

At that, Martin’s eyes snapped wide open, but Jon looked as if he were asleep.

“I … I, uh, don’t know, really. Four?”

One eye peeked open. “You’re not counting Tim, are you?”

Martin chuckled. “No, no, I don’t think those kinds of kisses count.”

“Good.” Jon closed his eyes again, then frowned. “How … how many would it be if you … _did_ count them?”

It was a struggle keeping his expression neutral – Jon could open his eyes again at any moment, after all – but he couldn’t stop the pounding of his heart. “Why do you ask?”

“I just …” Jon coughed, wrapping his arms around both legs. “I just feel like Tim’s experiences are … are an outlier and would appreciate a more representative sample base. Just. You know.” Jon flapped his hand dismissively. “For a more realistic world view.”

Martin hummed. “How, um … and how about you?”

“Hmm?”

“How many people have you kissed?” Martin cleared his throat, tugging at a frayed thread on his sleeve. “If … if you … I mean, you don’t have to answer or anything …”

“No, no. It’s, uh … it’s only fair. Um.” Face screwed up in concentration, Jon scrubbed the back of his neck. “Two. I think.”

“You think?”

Jon huffed. “Two, yes, two. I meant … well, there was Georgie, of course. And then there was this other person in secondary, but it was … I didn’t really realise I, um … _liked_ kissing until Georgie, anyway.”

“I see.”

Silence once again, although Jon’s leg bounced rhythmically in the chair. Should Martin … keep the conversation going? What did he even say? Why had Jon even _asked?_ Unless he just had kissing on the brain, for one reason or another. Tim _had_ certainly had a string of luck with those cards, after all … 

Finally, clearing his throat, Jon braced himself to stand.

“Well, that’s more than enough of that,” he said, much to Martin’s disappointment. “I think it would be best if we …”

It was only because Martin was watching so closely that he was able to reach out in time before Jon pitched over onto the floor. Jon, however, despite being composed mostly of lank and bone, was _heavy_ , and Martin was just barely able to fall backwards into his chair, Jon sprawled in a dazed heap on top of him.

“What just happened?” Jon asked, blinking owlishly.

“You’ve had both beer _and_ rum tonight,” Martin said, nearly choking on Jon’s long hair in his face, “and you haven’t seen a water bottle in 12 hours.”

Jon let out a sigh, and then chuckled, pressing a hand over his mouth. “I … I probably should have had that croissant earlier.”

“Probably. And, you know. Real food. Sometimes.”

Another laugh, stronger this time, building until Martin could feel it where their chests were pressed together. Infectious, Martin couldn’t stop his own chuckling, until they were little more than a pile of breathless, giggling idiots– he had to tighten his grip around Jon’s waist lest they laugh themselves onto the floor.

“It’s not so bad,” said Jon, breath tickling Martin’s neck– when had Jon put his head there, resting against Martin’s shoulder? “I’m sure between the two of us there’s a functional person somewhere that’ll get us home.”

Martin tried to swallow back a new round of giggling, aiming for _some_ semblance of composure. “We’ll be just fine.”

Jon hummed, making no moves to get out of Martin’s lap. The man couldn’t possibly be comfortable slumped over like this, could he? Martin was just about to say as much when something brushed the corner of his jaw. Something warm, and soft, and just a little bit chapped. Something … something that was almost certainly Jon’s mouth.

Martin froze. 

It … it had to just have been an accident. ‘Course it was. And saying something now would just embarrass Jon, so he should– 

But then it happened again– longer, with a bit more pressure. Jon had gently taken hold of the drawstring of his hoodie, nose trailing the underside of his jaw, and a flicker of embarrassment licked through Martin. When was the last time he’d _shaved?_ His face must have been all _prickly–_

“Is, uh …” Jon started, voice low, sending such a shock through Martin that he nearly dropped him. “Is this … okay?”

That’s when it sunk in.

Jon was _kissing_ him. 

_Jon_ was kissing _him._

On … on _purpose._

 _“Good,”_ Martin said, a little too quickly after the long pause. Jon chuckled, tickling Martin’s neck so badly he really did drop him, earning a startled yelp from Jon as he clutched to Martin’s lapels. “S- _sorry.”_

In lieu of a response, though, Jon kissed just under his jaw, the tip of his tongue grazing skin and Martin’s head could’ve popped off his body. He sat there, frozen and useless, as Jon dropped featherlike kisses along his jaw in a neat, orderly row, brushing his pointy nose along the soft skin by his throat, and Martin, God, what did Martin _do?_ He had an armful of Jon, but what did he do with his _hands–?_

At last, Jon had reached the corner of Martin’s mouth. Then, without warning, Jon _moved._

“What are you _doing?”_ Martin hissed as Jon struggled to crawl up Martin’s body. He was forced to clap a hand onto the desk to keep from pitching backwards.

 _“Sorry,_ just …“ Jon’s tongue peeked between his lips in concentration– Martin would have loved to just stare at it, if he wasn’t clutching the desk for dear life, heels digging into the floor. Then Jon’s knee drove into his stomach and he yelped. _“Sorry,_ sorry. I’m just trying to get into a more … advantageous, uh …”

“What do you mea–”

But then Jon cupped his face with both hands, looking down at him with glittering eyes and a shy, twitching smile, and Martin thought, _Oh, that’s what he means._

Slowly, Jon lowered his head, a slight tremble in his fingers where they rested on Martin’s cheeks. He stopped just as his lips brushed Martin’s, hesitant where he wasn’t before.

“I just, um …” he started, breath brushing Martin’s mouth. “I just want to stay that this isn’t … this isn’t because of the, um, alcohol, or anything … I … I’ve, uh …”

Some of the pieces fell together, and Martin’s eyebrows snapped up. “Is _that_ why you always wanted to play that bloody card game whenever we went to Tim’s parties?” 

Even in the semi-darkness, Martin could see the already fierce blush on Jon’s face darken further. “It … it seemed like the simplest ... “ He lowered his head. “I also liked the category card, if that makes a difference … “

Martin leaned back in the chair, mind blowing itself to bits. And, _God,_ that one time Jon had suggested they all play spin the bottle, even though he refused to participate when the bottle landed on him? Martin had assumed he’d just gotten nervous, but _now ..._

A coy smile curled Martin’s lips, one brow arched. “You thought leaving it to the random chance of a drinking game was the done thing?”

Jon scowled. “It is not _statistically possible_ that Tim _always_ drew the two of hearts, I _calculated it_ –”

Inching up his chin, Martin kissed Jon’s lips with a wet pop, startling the tangent right out of him.

“Tell you what,” Martin said, “I’ll make you a deck with nothing _but_ two of hearts, and we can have our own little party. Sounds good?” And he kissed Jon again, just because he could. “ _And_ we won’t invite Tim.”

Jon snorted, loud and rude, nothing how he usually laughs. He hid his face in Martin’s shoulder, and Martin felt a brief flicker of panic as the chair tilted again. But, just as quickly, Jon straightened, pressing his mouth over Martin’s with enough force that punched the breath out of him.

 _Oh_. Jon changing positions had been a _gorgeous_ idea; the extra height gave him leverage to the kiss in a way that Martin didn’t get to experience often, having always been the taller partner. Gently, Jon tilted Martin’s head to the side, until it was angled the way he desired– his fingers buried themselves in Martin’s hair, nails gently scraping the skin just under his ears and eliciting a sharp breath from Martin’s nose.

“Mmm _, good_ , that’s–” Jon pulled back, brow furrowed in dazed puzzlement. “Then maybe … if I try …?”

Jon tilted his own head the other way, discovering a sharper, deeper angle, wringing a low moan from deep in Martin's rumbling chest, his toes curling in his shoes.

“Yes, that’s, ah,” Jon laughed, his smile pressed against Martin’s mouth. “Um. More of that, please …”

Martin, with one hand still clutching the desk, the other tangled in the back of Jon’s jumper, could do little but comply as Jon moved his head around, kissing Martin however he wanted – once more, twice – deeper and deeper until, despite Martin’s best efforts, they were near horizontal in the chair. 

Jon was just so … _eager_. Eager to kiss _Martin_. To experiment with his hands and his mouth, extracting every soft sigh and hitched breath and, without fail, making an excited noise of his own every time, as if he had made some grand discovery.

It stole Martin’s breath until he thought he might pass out from it all. He just might– Jon kissed him for longer and longer stretches, just barely ever surfacing to breathe, and his lung strength seemed _far_ stronger than Martin’s. Martin’s blood sang with it– the taste of Jon’s lips on his mouth, his lightly shaking body under his fingertips, the smell of his coconut shampoo as his hair brushed his face– 

The door opened.

With a gasp, Jon scrambled under the desk, pulling a startled Martin down with strength Martin hadn’t thought he could possibly possess. A half-second later, the lights flipped on, and they pushed themselves further under the desk.

They sat there in silence for a long stretch of time, both breathing harshly. They heard footsteps and not much else.

“Wait–” with a blink, Martin turned to Jon, “–why are we hiding?”

“What?” Jon looked over at him and Martin had to swallow back a noise of utter adoration. Jon’s face still had it’s dark flush and his lips were shiny and kiss-swollen. “Well, we’re– we’re in here after hours, aren’t we–?”

“Jon, it’s the library– students are allowed in here until 2 AM. The clerk literally said hi to us on our way in.”

Jon scrambled for his phone. 11:43 PM. “Huh.” With a puzzled look, he dropped his phone back into his lap. “We left that party rather early, didn’t we?”

Martin shrugged. “It was getting a little boring anyway. And besides– your laptop.”

Jon made a placating noise, leaning into Martin’s side, and Martin’s heart somersaulted. They waited – because it would be a little strange to pop out of the desk _now_ – until, at last, the lights flicked off again, and they were back in comfortable, silent darkness.

They sat there for a moment, catching their breath, waiting, until, at last, Jon cleared his throat

“So,” he started. “So, I, uh, presume this means … that you, um … that is to say _we_ …” 

He trailed off, struggling, and Martin’s heart could have just burst from it all. “You want to get breakfast tomorrow, yeah?”

“ _Yes_ . That, yes. Date. I would like to … in a romantical sense …” Jon coughed, thumb circling the fabric of his knee. “It’s just … I realised that since we _are_ , um … _intoxicated_ to a certain degree … it’s important to take that into consideration–”

Martin took Jon’s hand into his and squeezed. 

“I’ve wanted this for a while, too, you know.”

Jon stared at their hands for a long moment, before pressing his face into Martin’s shoulder– he twisted their hands around until their fingers slid together. “Good. That’s good. Because … yes, because I … um … would like that …”

Chest coiling with affection, Martin pressed his mouth against Jon’s forehead, earning himself a grumble as Jon sank deeper into Martin’s side. It probably wasn’t a good idea to get overly comfortable– it was still a long way to the dorms. And yet, Martin couldn’t resist resting his cheek against Jon’s soft hair.

 _Just a few minutes_ , he thought as Jon’s chest rose and fell with slow, gentle breaths.

 _Yeah. Just a few more minutes._

**Author's Note:**

> That lil faint of yours was fake af Jon, and we all know it.
> 
> Follow me on tumblr [@athina-blaine](https://athina-blaine.tumblr.com/).


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